


Come After Me

by horsebot3000



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Might be a case fic, Rating has definitely increased, Rating might increase later, Spoilers for 3x08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsebot3000/pseuds/horsebot3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come after me.” She said impishly, grinning up at him, the sunlight glancing off the little swallow pin on her scarf.</p><p>Did Jack Robinson really have a choice in the matter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries fics. Very exciting! 
> 
> Spoilers for all of season 3 and particularly 3x08, so if you haven't seen it, proceed with caution!
> 
> A few points - I have no idea on transcontinental travel in the late 1920s. Some googling gave me some estimates on travel time for steam ships from Australia to London via the Suez, which informs the length of Jack's journey. Phryne's flight was rather more difficult, so I've cobbled together some timeframes and stopping points from Amelia Earhart's last flight, along with the travel routes used by the commercial airlines of the time. Still, I could be wildly off the mark, so I've kept it rather vague.
> 
> Lastly, as Henry George Fisher, Baron of Richmond, Phryne's father should have been properly referred to as "Lord Richmond" and not "Lord Fisher" in the series. As such, he'll be referred to as Lord Richmond throughout and, similarly, Phryne's mother as Lady Richmond.
> 
> Please enjoy!!

“Come after me.” She said impishly, grinning up at him, the sunlight glancing off the little swallow pin on her scarf.

Jack Robinson’s eyes flew open and he started awake, knocking a pile of files off the corner of his desk and nearly falling out of his chair.

“Damn.” He muttered, wiping a hand over his face and then pushing his chair back to attend to the files.

“Sir?” Senior Constable Collins rapped lightly on the door to Jack’s office and popped his head around the corner. “Everything all right?”

Jack scooped up the last file and tossed the pile into his in tray. “Yes, Collins. Just a clumsy moment, I’m afraid. It’s been a rather taxing day.”

“Yes sir. Cup of tea, sir?” 

Jack nodded gratefully. “That would be excellent, Collins. But shouldn’t you be getting home to Mrs Collins?”

Hugh blushed a delightful shade of red at the mention of his new wife. “Oh, yes, sir. My shift ends in ten minutes.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise, knowing that his own double shift still had two hours to run, the third double shift he’d taken that week with the aim of making himself so exhausted that he’d fall into a dead, dreamless sleep the minute his head hit the pillow. Collins disappeared out of the office, presumably in the direction of the station’s small kitchenette. It was nearly two weeks after the Collins wedding, nearly two weeks since Jack had made a mad last minute dash to the airfield to chase after the woman he loved before she flew off to literally the other side of the world.

The first telegram had arrived a few days ago, just as Collins had returned to work from his week-long honeymoon in Sorrento with Dot, managing to look both slightly dazed and like a man of the world in one go.

“Arrived Singapore. Stop. Father being tiresome. Stop. Singapore Slings at Raffles delightful. Stop. Wish you were here. Stop. Phryne x.”

Receiving that had been enough for him to investigate the prices for a ticket on a steamer to London at a nearby travel agent during his lunchbreak. While the price would have been beyond the salary of an average policeman, the fact that Jack was in possession of a modest inheritance from his grandfather made the situation considerably less challenging. The earnings off the capital were enough to keep him in leather bound books and the occasional silk tie, but he’d allowed a healthy amount to accumulate in his bank account for a rainy day. He considered the woman of his dreams imploring him to chase her across the world a positive monsoonal event.

In fact, the main stumbling block to Jack booking the ticket then and there at the travel agent had been lingering doubts that his presence in London would be desirable to Miss Fisher, despite the earnestness of her overture at the airfield and her words in her telegram. After all they’d been through, he still doubted he was enough to hold Miss Fisher’s attention for more than a brief dalliance.

Collins came back in, carefully balancing a tea cup that was full to the brim. He gently set it on a bare section of desk and then stood back to hover hesitantly in front of Jack’s desk.

Jack picked up the cup and took a sip, pursing his lips slightly at the overly sweet, but nonetheless satisfactory, tea that was Collins’ speciality. He glanced up at Collins over the edge of the cup.

“Something else, Collins?” Jack queried.

“Uh, yes, sir. You’re aware that Miss Williams – I mean, Mrs Collins – and I are staying at Miss Fisher’s home while she’s away?” Hugh stammered.

“Yes, Collins. Miss Fisher did mention something to that effect before she departed. What of it?”

“Well, sir, Dottie wanted me to ask, that is, Mrs Collins wanted me to ask you…”

Jack fought down the urge to tell Collins to hurry up and spit it out.

“She wanted to know if you’d like to come for dinner tomorrow night, sir.”

Finally, Jack thought, as Collins got his sentence out. “That sounds wonderful, Hugh. Please tell Mrs Collins that I would be delighted.”

Hugh nodded with a grin and left the room, shutting the office door behind him. 

Jack took a healthy swig of tea and turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. He scanned the particulars of the case, a rather grisly murder that he’d solved over the last week. Normally, his case files would be littered with references to Miss Fisher and her unique investigative methods, but this one lacked any mention of her.

“For God’s sake, man, pull it together.” He muttered to himself, annoyed that he couldn’t even sign off on a report without Miss Fisher coming to mind. Giving himself a shake and with one last glance up at the mantle clock, Jack looked back to his files.

**

The front door to Wardlow swung open, bathing Jack in warm light from the entryway. 

“Inspector!” Dot Collins, nee Williams, beamed at Jack and stepped back to allow him entry. 

“Mrs Collins. You’re looking well. Clearly married life suits you. Or perhaps Miss Fisher’s absence results in a more restful environment.” Jack deposited his hat and coat onto their usual hook and followed Dot through to Phryne’s parlour.

“Oh! Inspector Robinson, you must know I miss Miss Phryne dreadfully, although I can’t deny things are a little more quiet.” Dot poured Jack a whisky and passed him the glass.

“Just teasing, Mrs Collins. And please, I think it’s time you called me Jack.” He took a sip of whisky, somehow managing to not let out a hum of appreciation as the smokey liquid danced over his tastebuds.

“I couldn’t, Inspector!” Dot blushed, clasping her hands in front of her. 

“Please. I know I’m Hugh’s superior officer, but after hours I think you can both call me Jack.” Jack smiled encouragingly and Dot smiled back demurely in return.

“Very well, Jack, although I believe it will take Hugh some getting used to.”

The man himself appeared, and greeted his inspector, only to be told firmly that it was to be Jack when they were both off duty. With a blush, Hugh agreed and Jack wondered mildly how they’d get through the dinner without the Collins couple blushing every few minutes. He briefly wished, not for the first time, that Phryne were here to break the ice with one of her outrageous tales. That would be sure to be something worth blushing over.

The meal was as delightful as Jack had anticipated, with the chef himself, Mr Butler, joining them in the dining room at Dot’s polite insistence. Over dessert, a delicate syllabub prepared by Dot, Jack casually mentioned the telegram he’d received from Phryne earlier in the week, editing the contents to say only that she’d arrived safely in Singapore.

“Oh! I can’t believe I forgot!” Dot exclaimed, dropping her spoon and getting up from the table. She gestured for the men to remain seated as she darted over to the sideboard and picked up a folded piece of heavy cream paper. “We had a telegram today as well. It arrived not long before dinner so I haven’t had time to read it.”

“Read it out, Dottie.” Hugh suggested, loading up his spoon with a healthy serving of syllabub.

“‘Arrived Karachi. Stop.’ Karachi?” Dot glanced up inquiringly.

“India.” Mr Butler supplied helpfully.

“Of course. ‘Arrived Karachi. Stop. Terribly hot. Stop. Father still a nuisance. Stop.’ Oh, poor Miss Fisher. I suspect Lord Richmond is rather a handful.” 

“Indeed.” Jack murmured, privately thinking that dealing with the Baron of Richmond was rather giving Miss Fisher a taste of her own medicine.

“Is that all, Dottie?” Hugh asked through a mouthful of dessert, earning himself a reproachful look from his wife.

“Not quite. ‘Father still a nuisance. Stop. Tell Jack’, oh.”

Jack glanced up from his dessert to see Dot blushing prettily. “Tell Jack what?” he queried.

Dot cleared her throat. “‘Tell Jack to stop dithering. Stop. Will be at Claridge’s. Stop. Phryne x’ Goodness.” 

It seemed to be Jack’s turn to blush, something his dining companions politely ignored, much to his relief. “Well then. I have my orders, apparently. Mr Butler, perhaps you would be so good as to recommend a reliable shipping line?”

**

Three days later, Jack boarded a P&O Line steamer bound for London, Dorothy Collins and Miss Fisher’s two tame red raggers, Bert and Cec, seeing him to the docks.

“I’ll send a telegram Miss Fisher on the way home to let her know you’re on your way.” Dot promised before he’d stepped up to the gangway. “She left me her planned route, so it should be waiting for her when she arrives at her next destination.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Collins, much appreciated.” There probably wasn’t any real need to send word to Phryne yet of his departure. The voyage would take nearly six weeks, and she herself wouldn’t arrive in London for perhaps another week and a half. Still, he rather liked the idea of her arriving in some far flung foreign place and knowing that he was on his way to her side. His lips curved up involuntarily at the thought.

He turned to Bert and Cec. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Any time, Inspector.” Cec beamed, while Bert let out a grunt that was somewhat friendly in its execution.

On board, Jack found his cabin easily – not as luxurious, no doubt, as those offered to first class passengers, but comfortable enough. He unpacked his luggage and stored the empty suitcases securely under the narrow bed. Lastly, he pulled a small photograph out of his pocket and pinned it on the wall beside his bed. He’d snagged it from his office drawer during his last shift. He hadn’t felt the need to look at it since that case at the Green Mill so long ago, when they’d arrested Miss Fisher on break and enter charges and she’d executed a series of ridiculous poses as Hugh tried to take her mugshot photograph.

He let himself smile at her saucy pose, one arm flung up dramatically. Less than six weeks and he’d see her again.

**

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher carefully touched up her lipstick and then blotted just as carefully before gently straightening the tiny swallow pin she’d taken to wearing daily. Through the bathroom door, she could hear the sounds of the club’s resident jazz band in full swing. Her escorts for the evening, her cousin Guy and his wife Isabella, had been dancing up a storm when she’d excused herself.

She’d been in London for three weeks, her father safely deposited back with her mother and a week spent at the family home allowing her mother to ask all manner of impertinent questions regarding her marital status before she’d fled back to her suite at Claridge’s. 

Jack’s ship was due in sometime in the next two days and Phryne felt irrationally nervous about his impending arrival. It felt like an age since that day at the airfield when he’d come after her. Her lips fairly tingled at the memory of that kiss – the pressure of his mouth on hers had felt familiar from that kiss of distraction at Café Replique, but the intent this time had been quite, quite different.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and popped the tube of red lipstick back in her little silver evening back, the heavy beading on her dark blue gown making a delightful racket as she moved. Phryne stepped back into the club, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and letting the loud music sweep over her. She could see flailing limbs from the centre of the dance floor that suggested Guy and Isabella were still cutting a rug and she briefly consider joining them. There were certainly plenty of attractive potential suitors dotted around the room, but to her own surprise, the last thing she wanted was a mindless fling with a willing body.

Phryne downed the champagne in several unladylike gulps and set down her glass before pushing her way onto the dance floor.

“Ah, Phryne!” Guy bellowed as he spotted her. “Come, join us!” 

“Another time, Guy. I’m going to head back to the hotel.” She shouted over the music.

“What?” he shouted back, reaching out for her. She evaded his grasp and mimed that she was heading home. Her cousin rolled his eyes in a thoroughly theatrical manner but waved goodbye.

Her silvery fringed wrap was soon collected from the coat check and Phryne bundled up against the biting autumn night. It seemed terribly unfair that she’d just endured one of Melbourne’s famously unpredictable winters only to launch straight into the cold of London. As she flagged down a black cab, Phryne absently wondered how much convincing Jack would need to move southwards towards the sun for a month or so before they made the journey back. Saint Tropez, perhaps? Or even Monte Carlo would be nice.

She yawned widely as she stepped into the foyer at Claridge’s and headed over to reception. “Any messages?” she asked.

“A telegram, Miss Fisher.” The rather dapper looking fellow behind the counter responded. “And your guest has arrived.”

“Guest?” she repeated, her stomach giving a traitorous flip.

“Yes, Miss Fisher. He arrived around an hour ago.”

Phryne snatched her telegram and practically flew towards the elevators, calling her thanks over her shoulder. Her gown made a terrific amount of noise as she sashayed quickly across the foyer, but given the late hour, the foyer was empty of any disapproving patrons.

She twisted her little evening bag in her hands as the elevator operator took them upstairs. She’d booked a somewhat modest suite by her standards, in deference to Jack’s more sedate preferences, but it was still one of the hotel’s finest.

Her hands shook as she inserted her room key into the lock and Phryne chastised herself for her silliness. Sure enough, the evidence of Jack’s arrival was visible as soon as she stepped into the room. His trusty coat and hat were hanging on the coat rack by the door and a second room key sat in a bowl on the side table. 

“Jack?” she called out, dropping her back on the side table and stepping through to the lounge area. Empty. She kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot towards the large bedroom, breath catching as she walked in.

A bedside lamp was the only light in the room, illuminating the figure of one Jack Robinson stretched out on the large bed, fast asleep in just his trousers and shirtsleeves, his hair loosened from its pomade and curling slightly over his brow.

“Oh, Jack.” She murmured fondly. Carefully, Phryne snagged her silk nightgown from the chair where she’d flung it that morning and shimmied out of her beaded gown as quietly as she could. Five minutes later, face washed free of makeup and hair free of ornaments, she climbed up onto the bed.

“Jack, darling, wake up.” It took a minute or so of softly worded entreaties and careful caresses for Jack’s eyes to blearily blink open and stare up at her.

“Phryne.” His lips curved into a broad smile and he pressed his cheek into the palm of her hand and Phryne felt a flutter of arousal at the huskiness of his voice. It was just as she’d imagine he’d sound first thing in the morning after a night sharing her bed.

“Hello, darling.” She whispered, leaning close to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “It’s late, you should change for bed.”

He sleepily obeyed, much to her delight, and slid back into the bed – under the covers this time. Phryne took his wordless obedience as a sign that Jack Robinson was deeply exhausted. She had half expected him to proclaim an intention to sleep on the couch despite the understanding they’d come to.

He settled down into the bed and Phryne wriggled close to his side, slipping under one of his arms and resting her head on his chest. He made a noise of sleepy approval as she leaned across to switch off the lamp and the arm around her curled more snugly as she settled into place.

**

When Jack awoke the next morning, he initially had absolutely no clue as to his whereabouts. It certainly wasn’t the cramped ship’s cabin that he’d come to loathe over the long voyage, or even his bedroom back home in South Yarra. As his mind cleared of his sleep haze, he finally realised that he wasn’t in bed alone.

Nestled into his side was Phryne Fisher, her normally sleek black bob mussed from sleep and hiding her face from his view. Short even breaths left her unpainted lips and huffed across the section of bare chest revealed by his singlet. One of her legs was flung over his and he could feel the silk of her nightgown on his bare leg where his pajamas had ridden up around his knees during the night.

Jack’s breath caught in his throat and he felt an intense rush of emotion, his left arm pulling her in even closer to his side and his right hand reaching up to carefully tuck her hair back behind her ear. 

“Phryne.” He whispered and she wrinkled her nose in her sleep, burrowing more closely into his warmth. 

“Phryne.” This time he leaned over and nuzzled his lips into her hair. He could just make out the fluttering of her eyelashes as she woke up. The hand resting on his torso flexed and she lifted her head up enough to look him in the eye.

“Good morning.” He murmured, drinking in the sight of her looking deliciously sleepy and rumpled.

“Jack.” She purred in response, her hand shifting up along his ribcage and providing her with the counter balance she needed to stretch up and kiss him. “Mmm,” she hummed as she tasted him for the first time in weeks.

It took all of Jack’s considerable willpower to not roll her over onto her back beneath him and simply devour her. As it was, he deepened their kiss and shifted his hand up to slide through her hair, angling her head to his satisfaction.

Finally, he pulled back and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, delighting in her expression of barely contained desire. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

“And I you. I’m so glad you’re here, Jack. I wasn’t expecting you for another day or two, so finding you in my bed last night was quite the surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I hope.” He responded in that rumbling voice she so adored.

“Very pleasant. Are you terribly tired from the voyage, darling?” Phryne asked in a suspiciously considerate tone, her fingertips wandering up to the neckline of his singlet and tracing lightly across the bare skin.

“That depends, Miss Fisher, on what activities you have in mind for me during our stay. Are they particularly taxing ones?” He could feel his skin raising in gooseflesh in the wake of her touch and he resisted the urge to shiver in delight.

“Most taxing. Perhaps you should lay there a little longer, Jack. I wouldn’t want to overtire you.” She planted her palm on his chest to prevent him moving and pushed herself up to a sitting position, her dark hair falling out from where he’d tucked it behind her ear and sweeping down over her cheekbones.

“Probably wise, Miss Fisher.” He agreed tightly as she carefully drew up her nightgown to free her legs enough to swing one over his hips, settling herself lightly at the top of his thighs. His hands moved straight to her legs, sliding over the smooth, warm skin and resting mid-thigh as she regarded him carefully from her perch.

“You just lay there, Jack dear. Don’t exhaust yourself.” She smiled lazily as she leaned forward over him, giving him the briefest of glimpses down the front of her nightgown before she captured his lips in a slow and deliberate kiss. Her hands never stopped moving as she kissed him, first sweeping up his sides and then one tangling in his hair.

He delighted in every twitch of her hips against him and every little delighted hum that left her throat as she explored him. Eventually, he gave in to temptation and grasped her firmly by the hips and dragged her up to sit squarely over where he most wanted to feel her. She wriggled down firmly and Jack’s hips jerked up in response, drawing a throaty laugh from Phryne’s throat.

“Is that your nightstick, Inspector? Or are you just pleased to see me?” she whispered cheekily as her teeth worried at his earlobe.

“I’m very pleased to see you.” He gasped in return as she gently bit down. The sensations she was creating in him were driving him wild. Eventually, it became too much and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and rolled them neatly over.

“Jack!” Phryne exclaimed delightedly, drawing back her thighs so he could settle more snugly between them.

“I find myself feeling somewhat less tired, Miss Fisher.” He replied, leaning on one elbow and letting his other hand slide down between them to find the hem of her nightgown where it had ridden up around her thighs.

He watched her pupils dilate as his hand moved slowly higher along her inner thigh. He just reached the lace edge of her underclothes when there was a quiet knock on the suite door. Startled, Jack drew back his hand, earning a huff of disappointment from Phryne.

“Interrupted by the breakfast tray.” Phyrne sighed. They listened as a trolley was wheeled in and trays gently deposited on the dining table in the main room.

“Come on, Jack. Breakfast and then a bath.” She prodded at Jack’s shoulder until he rolled away from her with a groan. They both rose and donned dressing gowns before heading out to peruse the breakfast on offer. Jack piled his plate high and set to work demolishing the first truly decent meal he’d had since that dinner at Wardlow, while Phryne picked at some toast, watching Jack with a smile.

“Tell me, Jack, how was it that you were able to secure the leave to come here?” Phryne asked curiously. If she were honest, she hadn’t given a thought to how Jack might actually manage to chase after her when issuing her plea. Had he had to resign his job?

“I threatened to quit, obviously, if they didn’t allow me a leave of absence.” Jack replied, pausing for a moment from enjoying his meal. “I’ve found it a rather effective method considering my case clearance rate is the highest by far amongst the various city stations.”

“Ingenious. And how long were they prepared to give you?”

“As long as I want, really. It’s up to you, Phryne. Do you want to remain in London for a while and kick up your heels? Tour the continent? I’m at your disposal.”

Phryne smiled warmly. “So long as I’m with you, Jack, I don’t care. All I know is that we won’t be flying home. After several weeks country hopping with my father bellowing his complaints, I can’t stand the sight of that plane. I sold her to some fellow I met at a party the other week.”

Jack let out a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens for small mercies. That was one aspect of the return journey I was positively dreading.”

Phryne poked her tongue out and he grinned in return, an impish grin that warmed her heart.

“Truly though, Jack, I have no great wish to linger for months in London, although seeing the sights on the continent with you does sound delightful.”

“It sounds settled then, Miss Fisher. We’ll traipse around like gypsies until we tire of it and then head for home.” Jack picked up his cutlery and set himself to finishing his breakfast.

“Lovely. We must send Dot word that you’re safely arrived, Jack, otherwise she’s sure to worry.” With that mention, Phryne recalled the telegram she’d collected from reception the night before and got up to find it stuffed inside her little evening bag on the sideboard in the entry way. She slit it open with her knife and groaned at the contents.

“Something wrong, Phryne?” Jack queried.

“Well yes. It’s from my mother. It seems there has been a suspicious death in the village near our estate and my father simply insists I return home to aid in the investigation. Drat.” She flung the telegram down and flopped back in her dining chair to sulk.

Jack let out a bark of laughter. “That has to be the first time I’ve seen you react to an invitation to investigate a death with anything less than glee. Are English murders simply not as interesting as Australian ones?”

“Well when it involves staying for an extended period with my parents – who will absolutely insist on us staying in separate room, most likely in different wings of the house – my enthusiasm for a murder case does diminish considerably.” Phryne leaned forward and propped her head on her hands in a decidedly despondent fashion. “If you think my father impossible, Jack, just wait until you meet my mother.”

“Oh? Is she rather like Mrs Stanley?” Jack asked delicately. 

“Not at all. My mother is sweet, graceful, generous and ridiculously nice. It’s rather infuriating.”

“So we’re to journey to your family home to solve a possible murder and be sequestered in separate lodgings for the duration?” Jack summarised, setting his cutlery down on his cleared plate.

“Precisely. It will be ghastly.”

“Then perhaps, my dear Miss Fisher, we should take advantage of our current environs while we have the chance.” He suggested, getting to his feet and moving to Phryne’s side to drag her up and into his embrace. Her expression brightened considerably as she looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself firmly against the length of his body.

“Lead on, Inspector.” She purred in his ear.

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so thrilled with all of the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. Thank you to everyone that took the time to read this story. I hope you enjoy the next instalment.

In the end, Phryne’s eagerness to solve a murder reappeared after they’d made thorough use of both the suite’s very large bed and oversized bath tub.

“Perhaps we should journey down to Somerset this afternoon,” Phryne wondered aloud as she lay thoroughly sated in Jack’s arms. “Before vital clues are lost to us.”

“Are you honestly thinking about murder right now, Miss Fisher? Clearly I did not sufficiently apply myself if you’re mind has wandered to dead bodies in stuffy English drawing rooms.” Jack replied in a playful enough tone that Phryne knew he wasn’t really surprised or offended by her switch in focus.

“Oh, you applied yourself in a decidedly admirable fashion, Jack dear.” She ran her finger appreciatively down his bare torso. “But you know me.”

“Indeed. Which is why I rang down for the concierge to organise tickets on this afternoon’s train while you were running the bath. We’ve got about two hours until we need to leave for the station.”

Phryne grinned widely. “You excellent man. But a whole two hours? How will we manage to fill the time?”

Jack smiled lazily at her in return and then grabbed her and dragged her on top of him. “I suspect we’ll come up with something, Miss Fisher.”

**

“I thought your father sold the estate in Somerset as part of his plan to get out of his cousin’s grasp?” Jack asked. He sat beside Phryne in the first class compartment on the London to Somerset train, his hair somewhat haphazardly styled due to their rather rushed departure from Claridge’s.

Phryne reached up to smooth back an errant curl that had made its way over his brow. “Apparently orchestrating the sale of the estate was part of Father’s ruse. One of his gambling cronies agreed to pose as the buyer and his somewhat shady solicitor was in on it as well. Now that Eugene is safely tucked away awaiting trial back in Melbourne, it’s safe for Father to reveal that he never sold the estate after all. Mother is most pleased. Well, she was until one of her neighbours ended up dead.”

“Speaking of your mother,” Jack cleared his throat nervously. “Is she going to be amenable to this?” He gestured vaguely between them.

“To us being lovers, you mean?” Phryne responded, taking great delight in Jack’s blushes at her exaggerated pronunciation of the word ‘lovers’. “If she does have a problem, she’s not likely to actually say anything. She’s far too proper to actually have a negative opinion of something of consequence. You’re more likely to hear her complain about the flower arrangements.”

“Still, should we present ourselves merely as investigative partners?” Jack asked hesitantly.

“I’m not ashamed of us, Jack.” Phryne said bluntly.

“Neither am I!” He hastened to add, reaching over to clasp her hand in his. “I just don’t want to put your mother offside.”

“Dearest Jack. She probably already has a fair inkling to the true nature of our relationship. Aside from you following me back to England, you forget that Father saw our decidedly non-platonic farewell at the airfield, not to mention any letters she’s had from Aunt Prudence since my arrival in Melbourne. Aunt P was rather convinced months ago that we were stepping out together and I very much doubt that she kept that opinion to herself.”

Jack groaned. “That does rather explain a lot.” He said, thinking back to the very late night visit he’d paid Phryne after having to arrest his ex-father-in-law and how Mrs Stanley had made an appearance just as he’d made up his mind to drag Phryne into his arms.

“So, please, stop worrying about what my mother might think and instead start worrying about how I’m going to manage to sneak into your room after everyone’s gone to bed. The floorboards are terribly creaky in the guest wing, thanks to my father’s dislike of the responsibilities of a homeowner.” She shifted closer to Jack’s side, nudging his arm so he lifted it up to curl around her shoulders.

“That does sound terribly inconvenient. But you can be remarkably stealthy when you put your mind to it, that is, when you don’t announce your arrival with your French perfume.”

**

As Phryne had called ahead from the hotel to inform her parents of their impending arrival, a car was waiting at the station to take her and Jack the short distance to Fisher Hall. Jack had mentally prepared himself for a grand home similar to the one he’d stayed at briefly to convalesce during the war when a stray bullet had struck him in the shoulder. That mansion had had the most valuable pieces of furniture and artwork removed during the duration of its time as a temporary convalescence hospital, but it was still the grandest place Jack had ever seen. 

As such, the grandeur of Fisher Hall didn’t overwhelm him as it came into view as they drove up the long and winding drive. The house itself was in the Georgian style and constructed of a warm red brick that fairly glowed in the day’s last rays of sunlight. Elegant mixed borders of brightly coloured perennials separated the house from sweeping lawns. The gardening enthusiast in Jack thoroughly approved and itched to do a proper inspection.

He was so busy mentally cataloguing the plants used and wondering whether he could inveigle some seeds from the Fishers’ gardener to take home to his own garden, that he failed to notice the two people standing near the entrance. 

“Oh, apparently we’re deserving of the formal greeting, Jack. Mother must be rather keen for us to look into this death to put on this sort of effort.” Phryne nudged Jack gently and drew his attention to where Phryne’s father stood, hands in pockets, with a willowy woman with dark hair shot through with grey that could only be Phryne’s mother. 

“Are you sure your mother and Mrs Stanley are sisters?” he muttered as the car drew to a stop and the driver came around to open the door.

“That is what we’ve been told. Just wait until she’s politely interrogating you and you’ll see the resemblance.” Phryne responded sotto voce as she slid elegantly from the car and shook her mint green skirt gently so that it fell correctly. Jack shuffled out after her, glad that he’d thought to bring his best suits with him from home.

“Darling.” Lady Richmond said breathily, gliding forward in a rustle of cream silk with her arms outstretched. She lightly folded Phryne in her arms, conscious of not crushing either of their fine outfits. “Thank you for coming.”

“How could I not?” Phryne replied. “Mother, may I introduce Jack Robinson? Jack, my mother, Lady Richmond.”

Lady Richmond turned eyes almost identical in colour to Phryne’s on to Jack. “Mr Robinson. So pleased to meet you. I have heard much of you from my husband and sister.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Richmond.” Jack replied politely, inclining his head ever so slightly, determined not to consider exactly what Phryne’s mother may have heard about him.

“Jack, my boy. Good to see you.” Henry Fisher stepped forward, hand extended for an enthusiastic handshake. His pleasure in Jack’s company seemed to have increased with the knowledge that Jack had no official police role while in England and, therefore, no ability to arrest him.

“Lord Richmond.” He replied.

“Henry, please. We’re old friends now, Jack.” The Baron enthused. Jack smiled thinly in response.

“Come inside, let’s have some tea and I will explain this whole frightful business. Oh, Williams will see to the luggage.” Lady Richmond said as she noticed Jack moving towards his and Phryne’s suitcases. She gestured for the party to follow her into the house and they neatly trooped behind her through to a large sitting room overlooking a small patio. Inside the house, Jack could see that the grandeur of Fisher Hall was somewhat faded. Draperies, furnishings and wall hangings were all of excellent quality, but some twenty or thirty years old.

Phryne herded Jack towards a large love seat upholstered in faded crimson velvet and draped herself elegantly at one end. Jack perched himself beside her, leaving a respectable bit of distance that was rendered obsolete when Phryne extended her arm along the back of the seat and walked her fingers along the back of his jacket. He shot her a quick look and she smiled lazily in return, her fingertips dancing up towards the nape of his neck.

He glanced back at Phryne’s parents to see her father regarding him with some amusement and her mother studiously applying herself to the pouring of tea.

“This death, Mother,” Phryne began, drawing her hand back from tormenting Jack to accept her teacup and saucer with both hands. “You didn’t provide much detail in your telegram.”

“It was Richard Knight.” Lord Richmond supplied helpfully. “Found in his study two days ago slumped over his desk.”

“Oh.” Phryne wrinkled her nose. “I take it that the neighbourhood isn’t exactly throwing themselves into mourning.”

“Mr Knight was not liked?” Jack asked, taking a sip from his own tea. 

“He was not the most amenable of men.” Lady Richmond said diplomatically.

“Which is my mother’s way of saying that everyone hated him.” Phyrne said to Jack. “He infuriated his neighbours by letting his flocks graze in their fields and shifting boundary fences to his own advantage, he terrorised his female staff and he made money selling shoddy supplies to the British army during the war. I’m only surprised it’s taken until now for someone to bump him off.”

“Are the police convinced that it is a murder?” Jack set his cup and saucer very carefully down on a small table beside their seat.

“No, which is why I insisted Margaret send for Phryne.” The Baron said. “Knight was from hearty stock. His parents are still alive and into their dotage, his grandparents all lived until their nineties. It doesn’t make sense for a man of his age to keel over of a suspected heart attack.”

“And you care, why?” Phryne asked her father. “You’ve never really demonstrated much respect for law and order in the past, Father.”

Henry frowned. “I’m going to ignore that tone, my girl. And I care because I don’t want some murderer living in my neighbourhood.”

Phryne emitted a very ladylike snort, but decided to let her father’s motives drop. “Very well. Jack and I will call on the local constabulary first thing tomorrow morning and get the lay of the land. I remember Inspector Cardew being a rather sensible man, so perhaps if foul play really is involved, he’s already on the trail.”

“Oh, you’ll both be investigating?” Lady Richmond asked in a seemingly disinterested tone.

Phryne looked over to her mother and raised her chin. “Of course. This is what Jack and I do back home, Mother. We solve murders together.”

Jack couldn’t help the little leap of satisfaction he got from hearing Phryne describe Melbourne as home. Some small part of him had wondered on the long voyage over whether he would get to London only to find Phryne settling herself in a new establishment, sending for Jane and possibly Mr Butler to join her.

“Anyway, that is for tomorrow.” Phryne said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t a topic that she planned to revisit with her mother. “Perhaps you could call for someone to show us to our rooms? It’s been a long day and I think dinner on a tray and an early night is in order.”

“Of course, dear.” Phryne’s mother responded, getting up and moving over to the bell pull.

Jack murmured his thanks to Phryne’s parents as the butler appeared to escort them upstairs.

“Your room, Miss Fisher.” Williams announced, pushing open a heavy door to reveal a room that was so the antithesis of Phryne Fisher that Jack had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing. A small bed covered in a white lace coverlet was propped beneath swathes of lacy bed curtains. The walls were white, trimmed in a pale pink and the drapes were a darker shade of pink. A line of ancient dolls sat on a high shelf staring down directly at the bed.

“For God’s sake.” Phryne muttered under her breath. Then, louder, “Williams, do you think perhaps I could be set up in a room in the guest wing? All those dolls put me off my sleep. And I couldn’t possibly solve a murder with insufficient rest.”

“Of course, Miss.” Williams pulled the door shut. “I’ll have your things moved to the Chinese room across the hall from Mr Robinson.”

Phryne shot Jack a gleeful look as they followed the butler out of the family wing towards the guest wing. “Excellent, Williams. I do enjoy the ambience of the Chinese room.”

The butler made a noise of acknowledgement and silently led them to a room fitted out with dark, masculine colours overlooking a tennis court. Jack’s luggage was neatly stacked at the end of the bed and a fire had been lit.

“Thank you.” Jack said warmly, as Williams motioned him into the room. 

“Let’s talk over the case while my room is prepared.” Phryne said, settling herself into a chair by the fireplace while Williams took himself across the hall.

“Only if we can first talk about that other room. Your childhood bedroom?” Jack smirked, taking the seat opposite her.

“My mother went on rather a guilt induced decorating spree when we first arrived here.” Phryne replied, pulling a face. “I believe she was trying to make up for my decidedly lace-free childhood by making my room as lacy and frilly as possible. Of course I loathed it as soon as I saw it, possibly even more than the tiny little room Janey and I shared back in Collingwood.”

At the mention of Janey, a little of the old sadness appeared in Phryne’s expression and Jack leaned across to briefly clasp her hand, earning himself a smile in return.

“Did you really want to talk about the case tonight?” he asked.

“No, not really. I know that I should care about catching any killer, but Richard Knight was such a dreadful man that I can’t help but cheering on anyone who did us all a favour and bumped him off, so the case can wait until the morning. Besides, this is the first day we’ve had together in weeks. I want to spend tonight with you.” Her expression softened and Jack couldn’t resist reaching up to trace his hand down her jaw.

“I wasn’t entirely convinced you’d come, you know.” She said softly as Jack’s fingertips moved down her neck to rest at her collarbones. He drew back and beckoned to her. Phryne moved from her own chair to his, settling herself neatly in his lap and slipping her arms around his neck. Jack’s own hands slid around her waist to hold her securely in place.

“I wasn’t convinced myself.” He replied, his voice coming out in that low and intimate tone that Phryne adored so much. “I wasn’t sure if you really meant it when you asked me to come after you.”

“Oh, I meant.” She said firmly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “I always mean it with you, Jack.”

**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks again to everyone that's taking the time to read this story. I appreciate every hit, bookmark, kudos and comment. Please enjoy this next chapter!

“Good morning!” Henry Fisher announced loudly as he stepped into the breakfast room where Phryne and Jack were seated the next day. He clapped a hand firmly down on Jack’s shoulder, not noticing the younger man’s slight wince. “Sleep well?”

“Indeed.” Phryne replied. “Excellent mattresses in the guest rooms, Father. Although I think Jack must have slept strangely and done something to his shoulder.”

“Oh?” Lord Richmond turned to Jack with a questioning expression. 

“Nothing to worry about, just a pinch.” Jack said quickly, trying to keep his face as blank as possible. As the Baron turned to help himself to eggs from a chafing dish on the sideboard, Jack leaned in to Phryne.

“‘Slept strangely’?” He repeated softly in her ear. “Is that how you describe your biting me on the shoulder?”

“Well I could hardly tell my father I bit you to keep from screaming out your name in the throes of ecstasy and waking the whole household, could I?” she replied saucily. “Really, it’s your own fault. That thing you were doing with your fingers-”

“The bacon is excellent, Lord Richmond.” Jack said loudly to drown out Phryne’s words as the Baron moved back towards the table. “You should try some.”

“I just might do that.” Lord Richmond responded, turning back and fishing a few pieces out with the silver plate tongs that had been placed out by the serving staff. “What time where you heading out this morning, my dear?”

“Directly after breakfast, Father. I wondered perhaps if we could borrow the Bentley to head into the village?” Phryne asked. “I’m afraid I don’t have any shoes suitable for tramping down country lanes.”

“Of course, of course. It’s at your disposal for the duration of your visit.” Her father responded with a wave of his fork as he applied himself to his breakfast.

“If you’re quite finished, Jack, perhaps we should make a move?” Phryne dabbed politely at the corners of her mouth, making care not to smear her lipstick.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her – she knew very well he had plans for a second serving of breakfast – but lowered his cutlery all the same. “Indeed. Perhaps I’ll collect the keys to your father’s car while you gather your hat and coat?”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at Jack’s blatant attempt to take charge of the motor, but when he graced her with the briefest of winks, she flashed him a catlike smile and she got up, laying her serviette neatly at her place. 

“You do that, Jack. I’ll be back down directly.” Leaning in, Phryne placed a smacking kiss on Jack’s cheek before stepping out of the room.

“Are you sure you know what you’re in for with my daughter, Inspector?” Henry asked with a slight smile as Jack attempted to remove Phryne’s lipstick from his cheek.

“Not entirely, Lord Richmond, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jack replied as he successfully wiped off the last of Phryne’s lipstick.

**

“Nice little village.” Jack commented as he carefully pulled up the Bentley into a space outside the village pub. 

“I suppose,” Phryne responded as she straightened her hat. “It was all a bit too dull when I was a girl, though.”

“Yes, I can see how a pirate girl from Collingwood would find a quaint English village somewhat confining.” Jack replied as he stepped out of the car and went around to open Phryne’s door for her. She stood and immediately slipped her arm through Jack’s as she always did when they walked together in public, although this time she leaned in closer so their upper arms were pressed together and gripped his forearm a little tighter. 

“Very confining. All of a sudden I’d gone from this wild, ragged child running around the alleys in Collingwood and the next I was trussed up in starched pinafores as the daughter of the house. The villagers were very judgmental about the colonials who got lucky.” She steered him gently in the direction of the small police station and he shortened his long stride to match her pace.

“And I don’t suppose you gave them any ammunition at all, Miss Fisher.” Jack glanced down at her and she affected an innocent expression.

“The habits of a lifetime are hard to break, Jack, but I only stole little things like apples straight from the tree or lace handkerchiefs off the washing line.” She said with a smirk. “But the man you’re about to meet, Inspector Cardew, soon had me on the straight and narrow. Well, relatively speaking.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He said as they reached the small police station. He pulled the door open and held it so she could slip through ahead of him. “I’m rather hoping he can provide me with some suggestions on how to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

Phryne flashed him a look over her shoulder that said everything about how unlikely she thought that possibility and Jack let out a brief huff of laughter as he followed her inside.  
The station was tiny and made City South seem absolutely palatial in comparison. A large front counter dominated the room, behind which two desks were set up. A very young constable sat behind the smaller desk poking at a typewriter. He glanced up as they made their way to the counter, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he took in the sight of Phryne. Jack didn’t really blame him. He suspected he’d looked much the same way as Miss Fisher turned up at their first crime scenes in silks, furs, velvets and sparkling jewels. Today, in wide leg black crepe trousers with a silken cream blouse, dark red wool coat and a matching red cloche trimmed with a spray of black feathers, she looked wildly out of place in a small country police station.

“Can I help you?” The Constable said at last. His voice was fairly high and Jack wondered if he was even eighteen.

“Miss Phryne Fisher and Mr Jack Robinson here to see Inspector Cardew.” Phyrne said in a tone Jack recognised as one she used when she was prepared to use her social position to her advantage.

Impossibly, the boy’s eyes widened further as he recognised Phryne’s surname and realised she was connected to the Baron of Richmond. While things had changed after the Great War, the old feudal spirit lingered in small villages, something Phryne was no doubt counting on.

“He’s just out the back. I’ll get him for you, Miss. Sir.” He added as an afterthought to Jack. Jack smiled wryly.

“I never thought I’d see a constable more wet behind the ears than dear Hugh.” Phryne whispered to Jack as the constable disappeared through a door to the back half of the station house. “Poor thing looks like he’s not long out of leading strings.”

Before Jack could reply, the constable reappeared with a man around Baron Fisher’s age on his heels. Inspector Cardew was a plump man with an impressive moustache and a no-nonsense expression. However, this expression seemed to soften when he recognised Phryne.

“Why, if it isn’t the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.” He said, his moustache twitching. “Here to turn yourself in for the unsolved theft of old Mrs Billings’ second best lace shawl?”

“Like I told you in 1916, Inspector, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Phryne replied with an arch expression. She reached forward as Cardew approached and squeezed his hand fondly in greeting. “How are you, Inspector?”

“Well, Miss Fisher, all things considered.” His eyes flicked over to Jack in a quick, assessing look.

Phryne noticed and immediately made the introductions. “This is Jack Robinson, a fellow police detective inspector from Melbourne. Jack, Inspector Thomas Cardew.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jack took Cardew’s hand and shook it.

“Likewise. What brings a colonial copper all the way to Somerset? Or you, for that matter, Miss Fisher. Last I heard you were kicking your heels up on the continent.”

“I’ve been in Australia the last two years, Inspector. I’m actually a private detective and Jack and I often work on crimes together.” She fished through the black velvet reticule hanging from her wrist and produced one of her heavy cream embossed calling cards, handing it over to Cardew to examine.

“Well I never. You, a lady detective.” He tucked the card into a small pocket in his vest. “You wouldn’t happen to be here about the unfortunate death of Mr Knight, would you?”

“Actually, we are.” Phryne replied. “Jack and I happened to be in London and my mother sent a telegram about Mr Knight’s death and asked us to come down and look into it. She and my father are rather convinced that natural causes were not to blame.”

“Hmm.” The Inspector narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, very obviously assessing whether or not he should be sharing information with the daughter of the local nobleman and a foreign policeman.

“Let’s go out to one of the interview rooms and I’ll run you through what we have.” He said at last.

“Much appreciated, Inspector.” Jack piped up, offering Phryne his arm as Inspector Cardew led them through the station to a small, plain interview room, picking up a file off the front office’s second desk as they went.

They settled themselves into the plain wooden chairs, Jack and Phryne on one side and Cardew on the other with the file neatly placed in front of him.

“Your parents’ suspicions were on the mark, Miss Fisher.” Cardew said. “Although it initially appeared as though Richard Knight had suffered a heart attack, the doctor noticed signs that indicated poisoning. We’re waiting on results back from London to confirm.”

“May I?” Jack asked, indicating the file. Cardew paused briefly before sliding it across the table. Jack flipped it open and began scanning the contents, Phryne leaning into his side pleasantly and peering over his shoulder.

The folder contained a brief description of the case: Richard Knight had been discovered by his wife after she’d heard a terrific crash coming from his office. She’d found him slumped on the floor, unconscious, having knocked over his chair and several items off his desk. The doctor had been summoned, but Mr Knight had been dead by the time he’d arrived. Having undertaken Mr Knight’s annual check-up only a few weeks prior and pronouncing him in perfect health, the doctor’s suspicions and professional pride were piqued. Upon closer examination, he noticed a very small amount of frothing at the corner of Mr Knight’s mouth – his wife confirmed she had discovered him with a significant amount of frothing that she had wiped away with a handkerchief. Poison suspected, the doctor had asked for the police to be telephoned.

Jack pulled out a series of photographs and passed them to Phryne. She slowly flipped through each one documenting Mr Knight’s office and his body on the floor where the doctor had attended him – his collar and tie loosened.

“Any suspects?” Phryne asked. “Or have you not been able to limit it beyond everyone that ever had contact with Mr Knight?”

Cardew shot her a look. “At this early stage in the investigation, almost everyone in the household is a suspect, Miss Fisher. However, some suspects have been less than forthcoming in our interviews.”

“Ah.” Phryne said briefly, setting the photos down on the desk. “Mrs Knight was always a frightful snob. It does not surprise me that she would see cooperating with the police in the suspicious death of her husband as beneath her.” She said to Jack.

She folded her gloved hands primly in front of her and regarded the Inspector. “Perhaps, Inspector, you would allow Jack and I to assist you with this investigation? I believe your recalcitrant witnesses may open up more to someone they view as a social equal, as ridiculous as that notion is.”

“This is very unorthodox, Miss Fisher.” Cardew replied, leaning back in his chair and regarding the two people in front of him. “A lady detective and a copper from the other side of the world.”

“Feel free to check my credentials with the Victoria Police, Inspector.” Jack said lightly. “I’m sure they’d be willing to outline the success that Miss Fisher and I have had in our joint investigations.”

“I might just do that. Robinson, wasn’t it?” Cardew pulled a pencil and small notepad from his pocket, licked the tip of the pencil and made a note. 

“Yes. My station is City South.” Jack replied. “They’ll have more details regarding our investigations, although the Chief Commissioner at Russell Street is aware of our work.”

Beside him, Phryne slipped one of her hands off the desk and down to rest lightly on his thigh. She gave it a light squeeze and Jack struggled to keep his expression neutral.

“Very well, I’ll send off a telegram directly. In the meantime, I trust you’ll keep the details of this investigation to yourselves. It wouldn’t do for the entire village to be in a panic over a murderer on the loose.”

“Indeed, Inspector. I can assure you, we’re very discreet.” With one more squeeze to Jack’s thigh, Phryne stood up and extended her hand for Cardew to shake. 

“It seems strange that they haven’t even narrowed the suspect list down to a handful of names.” Jack commented as they exited the station and strolled back in the direction of the Bentley. “It’s been a few days since the murder.”

“It seems strange to you, darling, because you’re yet to comprehend how loathed Richard Knight was. I suspect that Inspector Cardew has a great list of potential murderers. But a lack of cooperation from the household and no confirmation yet of the official cause of death is slowing him down.” Phryne responded, once more tucking her arm through Jack’s and leaning close to him. She fancied she could feel the warmth of his body even through all the layers of clothing between them.

“Well, what is your plan, Miss Fisher? I suspect you plan on beginning our investigation before the Inspector checks up on us.”

“I thought perhaps we might visit the grieving widow, Jack. It’s a perfectly proper thing for a neighbour to do and if Mrs Knight happens to be more forthcoming with us than the Inspector, well, that’s hardly our fault.” Phryne replied with a mischievous smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued thanks for everyone taking the time to read, kudos, bookmark and comment on this story. This little Miss Fisher community is a delight!
> 
> Now, this will be the last chapter for around a week, as my 9 to 5 is set to be somewhat demanding over that period. Rest assured I shall be scribbling out the next chapter in every spare moment to post it as early as I can next week!
> 
> And now, on with the next chapter - in which we finally meet some potential suspects.

Phryne took the wheel for the drive to the Knights’ home. She zipped along the narrow laneways at the sort of speed that made Jack decidedly nervous, although he had to admit that she handled the motor car with admirable skill. Not that he’d ever tell Phryne that.

“The Knights’ home used to be a relatively small farmhouse,” Phryne said loudly over the sound of the Bentley’s roaring engine. “Richard Knight’s father did quite well for himself, although it was Richard himself that made the bulk of the fortune and between them they expanded the house to the Frankenstein’s monster than it currently is.”

“You said he made money selling poor quality supplies in the war?” Jack replied, trying to avoid the need to clutch at the door handle as Phryne took a corner at speed.

“Yes, his family were sheep farmers, but he diversified into owning a factory that processed the raw fleece. He managed to get himself a contract to supply wool cloth for uniforms but he cut corners during the production process and his cloth had a nasty tendency to wear very quickly. Uniforms that were meant to withstand the dreadful conditions at the front were falling apart after a few weeks.”

“How was it that he got away with it?” Jack asked, beginning to understand the dislike that this man inspired. His heavy wool greatcoat had been a saving grace to him during his time in the wet and freezing trenches in France – a quality coat made from excellent Australian merino wool. He still had it, tucked away at the back of his wardrobe, although it hadn’t been worn since the day he arrived back in Melbourne in 1919.

“He blamed it on his factory foreman and produced evidence that supposedly showed the man instructing workers to cut corners to get cloth finished faster. The foreman received a bonus if the factory’s output passed a certain yardage per day.” Phryne expertly switched gears and braked as they approached a rickety looking bridge. To Jack’s relief, she slowed the car considerably and took the bridge carefully. The planks rattled under the weight of the Bentley as they made their way across.

“So we can assume that the factory foreman that Knight set up as his scapegoat is on the suspect list.” Jack reasoned. 

“Perhaps, but I believe he was given prison time following the war department’s investigation after the war. Inspector Cardew would have to look into that to see whether or not he’s still incarcerated. But yes, it does give him a rather good motive to want Knight dead. Mind you, he was technically complicit in Knight’s scheme – he did profit from the extra yardage being produced and apparently never questioned the orders the workers had been given, even though he was the foreman.”

Phryne pressed down on the accelerator as they cleared the bridge. “Nearly there, you might be able to see the chimney stacks over there.” She gestured elegantly with one gloved hand and Jack followed her direction, just making out the stacks as she’d said.

Phryne turned into a driveway and once they’d eased around a sweeping bend the house appeared and Jack immediately understood Phryne’s reference to it being like Frankenstein’s monster. He could make out where the original modest farmhouse began and had been added to gradually over the years as the fortune of the family grew. No attempt had been made to gracefully integrate the different additions and the overall effect was of a rather ugly house with pretentions of being something grand.

Phryne eased the car to a stop outside the main entrance. Almost immediately, a man that Jack assumed was the Knight’s butler opened the door and stepped outside.

“He’s a bit keen,” Phryne commented as Jack moved around to open her door for her. “Mr Butler would be shocked with that level of anticipation.”

“Miss Phryne Fisher.” She announced once she’d stepped out of the car. “And Mr Jack Robinson to see Mrs Knight. We wanted to express our condolences.”

“If you would be so good to wait in the parlour, I will ascertain if Mrs Knight is home to visitors.” The butler replied, ushering them inside into a small parlour.

The interior of the house wasn’t much better than the exterior. The furnishings tended toward gaudiness and some of the combinations displayed a distinct lack of taste.

“Ghastly, isn’t it?” Phryne said quietly as she and Jack sat down on a small settee and Jack removed his hat. “I don’t think it’s changed since I was last here for a card party when I was seventeen. It’s all Richard Knight’s doing, he never let his wife touch a thing.”

“It does assault the eyes somewhat.” Jack conceded and he and Phryne shared a smile.

After a few minutes of waiting, Jack could tell that Phryne was itching to get up and poke around the room. Quite frankly, he was amazed that she’d managed to restrain herself for this long. He reached over and grasped her hand, running his thumb over the back of the fine wool of her gloves.

“Why, Inspector,” she said in a mock gasp. “Could it be that you’re holding my hand in a strange house where anyone could come across us at any moment?”

“What can I say, I like to live dangerously.” He responded, giving her hand a squeeze. She moved her hand within his, turning it up so it was palm to palm with Jack’s and lacing their fingers together. 

As she was pondering whether or not to remove her gloves to better enjoy the sensation of holding Jack’s hand skin to skin, the butler returned.

“Mrs Knight will be with you in a few moments.” He said pompously, as though his mistress was bestowing a very great honour on them. He left again before they could respond, hopefully in the direction of the kitchen to bring back tea and biscuits, Jack thought.

A few minutes later they heard a soft tread on the carpeted hallway and Mrs Arabella Knight appeared. She was a woman in her late forties, very early fifties at most, with greying ash blonde hair bundled loosely at the nape of her neck. She wore a straight tweed skirt that reached to below the knee, with a pale yellow blouse under a long draping wool cardigan of an alarming shade of brown.

Jack and Phryne got to their feet, discretely detaching from each other, and Phryne held out her hand. “Mrs Knight. Phryne Fisher. I bring condolences from my parents, the Baron and Baroness of Richmond.”

Mrs Knight raised one delicately arched eyebrow, but accepted Phryne’s hand in a limp handshake. Her gaze flicked to Jack and Phryne noticed the appreciative look in her eye.  
“May I introduce Jack Robinson?” she said. She briefly toyed with the idea of staking her claim by introducing him as her lover, but decided that would embarrass Jack terribly. However, it did rather raise the question of how she should refer to him in public. Colleagues was useful for investigations, but what to use in social situations?

“My condolences, Mrs Knight.” He rumbled, nodding shortly in greeting. 

“An Australian?” she queried, sitting in a rather hideous armchair opposite them and gesturing faintly for them to resume their seats.

“Born and bred.” Jack responded, wondering if he was expected to apologise for his nationality. Based on the look on Mrs Knight’s face, he suspected that he was.

“Such a terrible shock about Mr Knight.” Phryne began as the butler reappeared with a tray of tea things. “Had he been ill?”

“Not at all. He simply keeled over and died.” Mrs Knight commented lightly as she indicated for the butler to pour tea. “It was rather typical of my husband to die without considering others. I had to cancel a trip to London to my couturier.”

“Very inconvenient.” Phryne murmured in a conciliatory tone. She accepted her teacup and took a sip, trying not to wince at the dreadfully cheap tea. She could never understand why people economised on important things like tea. Jack accepted his own cup and snagged a couple of biscuits at the same time.

“Well that was my husband to the end, Miss Fisher. Inconvenient.” Mrs Knight calmly took a sip from her own teacup. Had they not known that she’d been widowed just a few days earlier, neither Jack nor Phryne would have been able to detect Richard Knight’s death based on his wife’s demeanour.

“Is Daphne still at home?” Phryne asked. “Or is she married?”

“No, she’s still at home. A great disappointment, if I do say so, Miss Fisher. A daughter of five and twenty and no husband in sight.” Mrs Knight said somewhat pointedly, well aware of Phryne’s own age and unmarried status.

“That is disappointing,” Phryne responded in a sweet tone. “But so many young ladies of middling social status find it difficult to snare a man with so many men lost in the Great War. I find myself thankful for my rank and fortune that I need not worry about such things.”

Jack choked on his biscuit and coughed, taking a draft of tea to both clear his throat and hid the smile threatening to break out on his face.

“Was your husband well-liked by his employees, Mrs Knight?” Phryne asked in a sudden swerve of topic, no doubt hoping to catch Mrs Knight by surprise enough to gain an honest answer.

Mrs Knight glanced up from her tea, surprise written on her face. “What a queer sort of question, Miss Fisher.”

“Is it, though? You’ve said yourself you husband wasn’t ill and he died unexpectedly. Given the well-known longevity of Mr Knight’s family, it’s only natural that one’s mind starts to wonder about other possibilities.” Phryne replied.

“Who have you been speaking to, Miss Fisher?” Mrs Knight demanded. “I won’t have unfounded gossip about my husband spread around the village.”

“Inspector Cardew, as a matter of fact.” Jack spoke up at last. “He mentioned that your husband’s doctor suspected foul play.”

Mrs Knight turned on Jack. “I’ll have to have a word with Inspector Cardew about sharing confidential information with parties unconnected to the family.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that Jack’s a detective inspector with the Victoria Police Force?” Phryne said. “And I’m a private detective. We’ve offered our services to Inspector Cardew in this investigation.”

This seemed to stun Mrs Knight. Phryne pressed forward. “We’re only trying to find out what happened to your husband, Mrs Knight. If he was murdered, don’t you want your husband’s killer to face justice?”

“To be honest, Miss Fisher, I could care less. My husband was a thoroughly unpleasant man and probably deserved what he got. I didn’t kill him, but I’m certainly glad someone did.” She set her teacup down with some force and sat up straight in her chair, glaring at Phryne.

** 

“That could perhaps have gone better.” Jack commented, putting his hat on as they stepped out of the house. “While it’s clear she disliked her husband, we don’t have a clear potential motive. It might be worthwhile talking to your mother to see if she can shed any light.”

“Perhaps. She’s still a suspect, as you say she certainly hated him enough and wiping the frothing from his mouth before the doctor arrived could have been her attempting to hide the symptoms of poison.” Phryne said, shielding her eyes from the midday sun.

“But why bother going to his aid when she heard him knocking things over in his office? If she’d poisoned him she would have known what was going on. Similarly, she called the doctor.” Jack stepped towards the driver’s side door of the Bentley and opened it for Phryne.

“We only have her word that he was still alive when she went into the room, though.” Phryne pointed out, pausing for a moment beside Jack to glance up at his face. A small furrow had formed between his brows and she felt like reaching up to smooth it out with her fingertips. “Calling the doctor could have just been a ploy to make it look as though she’d tried to save him.”

“Phryne? Phryne Fisher, is that you?” A surprised feminine voice piped up.

Phryne and Jack spun around to see a women around Phryne’s age coming from around the side of the house. She was short and somewhat plump, wearing a frumpy brown wool suit and large black Wellington boots, with mousey brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose that Aunt Prudence would have referred to as “unfortunate”. 

“Daphne?” Phryne asked. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I thought that was you. I had no idea you were home.” Daphne stepped up to Phryne and leaned in for a brief embrace.

“It’s only a very temporary visit, I’m afraid. Home is on the other side of the world now.” Phryne smiled, stepping aside slightly and gesturing to Jack, deciding to try out a description for Jack and see how it fit. “This is my companion, Jack Robinson. We were just giving our condolences to your mother. It must be a terrible time for you.”

Daphne’s welcoming smile faded somewhat, her brows drawing together. “It was shocking, certainly.” 

“We understand the police are treating your father’s death suspiciously, Miss Knight.” Jack spoke up. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”

Daphne laughed hollowly. “I suspect numerous people, including Phryne here, would have already told you that that’s a very long list, Mr Robinson.”

“Still, there’s a big leap from disliking someone and wanting them dead.” Phryne replied.

“I suspect the leap is smaller than you’d imagine when it came to my father, Phryne.” Daphne glanced past Jack and Phryne, her lips curving up ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. Our estate manager is heading this way and I’ve been trying to catch him all morning.”

They watched as Daphne hurried away in the direction of a man striding from the barn.

“I feel like I should stop being surprised about how much Richard Knight’s family dislike him.” Jack said, thrusting his hands deep in his trouser pockets. Phryne glanced over at him and smirked.

“That would probably be wise, darling. For now, let’s head back to my parents’ house and get some lunch. We need to ponder our next move and ask my mother about the Knights' marital woes.”

“An excellent idea, Miss Fisher.” Jack replied as Phryne lowered herself behind the wheel of the Bentley.

**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I got a chance to get back to this story! It's not the longest of chapters, but I hope you'll still enjoy it. Please note the increased rating.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone that reads, comments, leaves kudos or bookmarks. I appreciate every single one.

They arrived back at Fisher Hall with a spray of gravel as Phryne braked hard in the driveway. Inside the house, they found a note from Lady Richmond explaining that she and her husband had taken one of the other cars and driven to a friend’s house for the day – they weren’t to be expected home until dinner time.

“Drat.” Phryne said, dropping the note back on the entryway table. “I was hoping to talk to Mother to get the inside information on the Knights’ marriage this afternoon.”

“Perhaps we should call on Inspector Cardew again later this afternoon and see whether or not the results of Mr Knight’s autopsy have come back from London.” Jack suggested as they both divested themselves of coat and hat and moved through to the sitting room.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. I wouldn’t mind speaking to the Knights’ estate manager, but not until Inspector Cardew has given us his approval to formally work on the case.” Phryne flopped back onto a settee in a rustle of silk and crepe.

Jack glanced down at her with surprise evident on his face. “My dear Miss Fisher. Are you actually telling me that you’re not going to barge into this investigation until you have permission? I am astonished.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Cardew’s not as accommodating as you, Jack dear. He’s just as likely to toss the both of us into his cell if we pursue our inquiries. Surely you’re a little bit pleased at my restraint.”

“Jealous, actually, that this Cardew apparently has a great deal more control over your actions in an investigation than I could ever hope to have.” He replied, sitting down beside her and immediately finding himself with Phryne’s legs swung up and into his lap.

“Be honest now, Jack, you wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smirked. His hands settled on her ankles and stroked her skin through her fine silk stockings.

“I don’t think there’s anything about our partnership I would change in any way, Miss Fisher.”

She watched avidly as one of his large hands slid slowly up under the hem of her trousers to stroke her calf. “Nothing at all, Jack?”

“Well, perhaps I might have dared to make my romantic overture earlier.” He confessed. She glanced up to find his eyes on her.

“How much earlier?” Phryne breathed. His grip tightened slightly on her calf.

“The day my divorce was finalised.”

“At Guy and Isabella’s engagement party,” she said, “I confess I had plans for you that night, Inspector. Plans that involved helping you into that Mark Antony costume and then back out of it again.”

“I may have let you at that point.” He responded, his voice lowered and husky, sending a thrill of delight through Phryne.

“Yet another charge to lay at the door of Murdoch Foyle.” She said. “But there’s nothing in our way now, Jack, and luncheon is still another hour away.”

“What are you suggesting, Miss Fisher?” he rumbled, pulling his hand from under her trouser hem and immediately placing it on her inner knee.

“I suggest you carry me to your chamber and thoroughly ravish me, Inspector. I’ll be the Queen of Egypt and you can be my Roman Triumvir.” She reached over and ran her hand down the side of Jack’s face, her eyes twinkling with desire and a hint of playfulness.

In a move that Phryne didn’t expect, Jack hauled her fully into his lap and into his arms before standing up. Phryne gripped at his shoulders, her breath catching at the unexpected move. 

“Jack!” she exclaimed in delight.

He leaned in and took her mouth in a devastating kiss, leaving her panting ever so slightly when he broke away and started towards the door.

“You did suggest me carrying you.” He pointed out, easily taking the stairs with his precious burden. 

“So I did. Does that mean you’ll be taking me up on the rest of my suggestion?” Phryne said in a desire filled voice.

“I’m not one to ignore a sensible suggestion, Miss Fisher.” They reached the door to Jack’s room and he nudged it open with his shoulder, stepped through, then pushed it firmly shut with the heel of one foot. He tossed Phryne lightly on the bed and set to shedding his jacket, vest and tie. Phryne pushed herself up and moved her hands to her throat to begin undoing her blouse, only for Jack to call out for her to stop.

“Would you deny me the pleasure of peeling every single scrap of clothing from your body, Phryne?” he said in a passion roughened voice as he continued to strip.

She shook her head, lowering herself back to her elbows, her dark hair swinging around her cheekbones. “We’ve done enough denying for a lifetime, Jack. But hurry.”

He obliged, kicking off his shoes and going to her in just his trousers and singlet. His fingers fumbled at the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse before Phryne implored him to simply tear it open and he did so, the buttons scattering over the coverlet and floor.

She helped him push the silk back off her shoulders and down her arms and Jack flung the garment across the room, immediately moving to the fastening on her crepe trousers. 

Phryne heeled off her shoes and obligingly lifted her hips so Jack could peel the trousers down her long legs, leaving her in her silken undergarments and stockings. He rolled those down each calf, taking a moment to sweep his hand appreciatively down her bare legs.

“Hurry up, Jack,” Phryne urged, dragging his hands up to her brassiere. He peeled the remaining confections of lace and silk off her, leaving her spread out bare before him.

“God, Phryne,” he murmured appreciatively, letting his gaze take in every inch of her. He’d been so overcome with his desire for her the past day and a half that he hadn’t taken the time to savour her. Now, he let himself take in every detail and she let him.

Finally, though, her impatience overcame her and she pushed herself up and snagged his hands, dragging him to her. “Why just look when you can touch.” She said, lifting one of his hands to her breast. She arched into his touch as he palmed her, his large hand looking so tanned in contrast to her alabaster skin.

Phryne took advantage of the temporary distraction to unfasten his trousers and to push them and his undershorts down over his narrow hips. Coming back to himself, Jack stepped out of them, kicking them out of the way and removed his hand just long enough to peel off his singlet and drop it on the floor.

And then he pounced.

He knelt between her splayed legs, leaning over her to capture her lips in a kiss, one hand keeping him balanced over her and the other gripping at her hip. Phryne kissed back eagerly, reaching up to slide her hands up his ribs and to his back where she let the tips of her nails dig in ever so slightly. Jack groaned against her mouth as she marked his back, his hips jerking involuntarily towards her.

“Please, Jack, please.” Phryne whimpered as his mouth moved from hers to lavish attention on the column of her throat. The hand on her hip shifted inwards to sweep low across her taut stomach and then finally through the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Phryne felt every muscle in her body tense in delight as Jack’s long fingers swept through her folds, zeroing in on her little bud of nerves. She thrust her hips up against his hand, seeking firmer purchase and Jack obliged by rubbing a little harder. His teeth scraped against her collarbone before his lips fastened on to the patch of skin and sucked.

The combination of his fingers and mouth was too much and Phryne quickly found herself bordering on her release. She squeezed her eyes shut as Jack’s fingers dipped briefly inside her, only for him to shift his hand away and pull his mouth from her skin.

“Jack?” She gasped, lifting her head to find him staring down at her with the smallest of satisfied smirks.

“Not yet, Miss Fisher.” He said, leaning down for a brief kiss and then back away down her body. She propped herself up, watching as Jack knelt down on the floor beside the bed and grasped her hips. She fell back as he dragged her towards him so that her backside rested on the edge of the bed. He was looking up at her face from between her thighs, the dirtiest of smiles curving across those delicious lips and Phryne felt her mouth run dry.

To say that Phryne had been surprised by Jack’s expertise in the boudoir was an understatement. She’d assumed that as a man married young and only recently divorced he would have been limited in his skillset and she’d fervently looked forward to educating him.

But she hadn’t needed to. He’d thrilled her with his knowledge of the female form and how quickly he’d made her respond to his confident touch. But this, this was something so few men in her life had been willing to do and something she’d never expected from Jack so soon.

Determined to watch every single second, Phryne struggled to prop herself up again, her muscles fairly quivering with anticipation. Jack watched her, his hands sliding up the inside of her thighs and pushing them further apart. His mouth followed, pressing hot kisses along her flesh, his breath ghosting over where she wanted him most.

“Jack…” she could barely recognise the sound of her own voice, so altered was it with desire.

His eyes firmly on hers, Jack leaned in and kissed her on her needy centre. She cried out at the sensation and Jack slid one arm up to hold down her hips. Her voice grew hoarse with her cries of delight as Jack’s wicked mouth lavished her with pleasurable sensation.

Phryne frantically tried to move her hips, but Jack’s strong grip kept her just where he wanted to. The need to move became greater as his free hand move up and his fingers pressed inside her. She threw her head back, sobbing as her climax built. It took just a subtle twisting of Jack’s fingers inside her to push her over the edge.

She was still gasping and quivering, when Jack loomed back over her. He took her mouth in a bruising kiss and she tasted herself on his tongue. She reached for him, one hand fumbling between her thighs for his hard length and the other gripping at his shoulder to draw him down further onto her.

He guided himself towards her centre and thrust, her inner walls clenching greedily around him as the sensation drove her back over that pinnacle. Phryne drew up her legs, wrapping them tightly around Jack’s hips as he began to move, slowly at first but with increasing power and speed as he chased his own release.

“Oh, oh, Jack!” she cried, grasping desperately at him. The strength of his thrusts was jerking her across the coverlet little by little and she scrabbled for purchase, clawing his back in her desperation.

Jack’s breath was increasingly laboured as he moved more harshly against her and he dropped his head into the crook of her neck, groaning as he approached his own climax. He fumbled between their bodies, his fingers at last finding that spot that would bring her along with him. It took only a few firm taps for her to explode around him and the fierce fluttering of her internal muscles sent him after her into bliss.

He half collapsed on her as the strength in his arms gave out. “Phryne,” he moaned, his hips stuttering into her.

“I’ve got you, darling,” she panted, her fingers sliding up his back to tangle at the hair at the nape of his neck. Her body was still quivering from that last devastating climax and from the delightful sensation of Jack still inside her. She clenched down, earning a groan from Jack.

“Minx,” he growled, nuzzling into the side of her neck. He never wanted to move, but he knew he must be half crushing her, so he carefully drew back, leaving her warmth, and flopped on his back beside her.

“My word,” Phryne huffed, one hand reaching for Jack’s and the other resting on her breast where she could feel her racing heartbeat. “I don’t expect that’s something you learned at the police academy.”

Jack let out a brief huff of laughter. “I should think not.”

“May I ask…?” she trailed off delicately, shifting onto her side so she could look at his face.

“A lot of banned books end up in City South’s evidence lockers, Miss Fisher.” He replied, his breath starting to even out. “I could hardly have Collins go through them looking for evidence of vice and obscenity.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling. “Then I should be sending a letter of thanks to your deputy commissioner for requiring such a thorough examination of such lewd material.”

“Save your paper, Miss Fisher, for you’re likely to get me in strife. I’m only supposed to note the title, not bookmark the pages of promise and copy out passages for my own edification.”

**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was an unexpected delay in proceedings. Honestly, it's rather outrageous that work and responsibilities gets in the way of the more pleasurable things, like writing fanfic!
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone that's continued to read, comment, subscribe or leave kudos. Please enjoy this next chapter.

Their afternoon interlude was far shorter than Phryne would have preferred, having been interrupted by the rumblings of Jack’s empty stomach and a need to dress and head downstairs for their luncheon.

Afterwards, they moved to Fisher Hall’s library, where Jack propped himself in the corner of a long lounge with a slim volume of Shakespeare sonnets from one of the library’s many shelves. Phryne eagerly joined him, laying her head in his lap and stretching her long legs out along the couch, flicking through one of her mother’s magazines.

Occasionally, Phryne would glance up at Jack to take in his relaxed expression, sometimes catching him in the act of silently reciting a sonnet or seeing his lips curve up in a pleasurable smile. Each time, she’d feel a little burst of satisfaction that he was here with her and that that leap forward they’d taken two months ago at the little airfield outside of Melbourne had come to fruition in England.

“Do I have something on my face?” Jack murmured, neatly flipping over to the next page in his book. “Because you keep staring at me like I’m some sort of museum specimen.” 

Phryne had been in the midst of admiring the planes of his face and the light curl of his still damp hair from their shared bath. She dropped the magazine on her lap, abandoning the pretence of actually reading it, and reached one hand up to trace her fingers down the line of his jaw.

“You’ve only a smile on your face, Jack, which I like to think I had some part in putting there. But other than that, I’m simply admiring you. You are beautiful, my darling.” She replied matter of factly, delighting in the hint of colour that stained Jack’s cheeks at her words.

“I am hardly that, Miss Fisher.” He rumbled in return, flicking his eyes away from his book to glance down at her. “But you do make me smile. For many reasons.”

“Good. I’m glad of it. You didn’t smile nearly enough when we first met.” Deciding she was at a disadvantage for this conversation in her current location, Phryne raised herself from Jack’s lap and then scooted more closely to his side, tucking her legs up beneath her and taking shelter against him when he raised his arm slightly in invitation.

“Well, I did have a rather meddlesome lady detective interfering with my crime scenes and a rather put out deputy commissioner to answer to.” Jack pointed out playfully as he tightened his grip around her shoulders, earning a poke in the side from Phryne.

“Admit it, you love having me around.” She demanded.

“You certainly grew on me, Miss Fisher.” He admitted. “Almost like a fungus, you could say.”

“Jack!” she laughed, swatting at him and delighting in the grin he gave her in return. “You are impossible.”

“Only when I’m with you, Miss Fisher. That’s when the impossible becomes possible.” He gazed down at her with a look of such affection that Phryne felt almost humbled. In that moment, she could see the great depth of his feelings for her, every bit of the love she knew he held for her, even though he hadn’t voiced it explicitly. Every look and caress spoke of his love, and there had been a moment when they’d been laying in each other’s arms the previous morning when she’d felt sure he’d been about to tell her.

“Like the impossibility of a fiercely independent woman falling in love with a good, honest man?” she asked. “Who would have thought when we met that that could happen? That it _would_ happen?”

Surprise and wonder bloomed on Jack’s face. “Phryne?” he breathed enquiringly.

She smiled. “Yes. I love you, Jack. Madly. Wildly. Completely.” 

He dragged her in to him for a fierce kiss and she kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every bit of her love for him into it.

Jack pulled back after a moment, but just far enough so they could both breathe, his forehead leaning against hers and their breath mingling.

“I never dared dream that you could love me as I love you, Phryne, because I knew your opinion on such things.” He said softly. “I knew you cared and that was enough for me, but this…this is everything.”

“I know, darling. I can scarcely believe it myself. I resolved to never let myself fall in love with another man as long as I lived, but you slipped through the armour around my heart, Jack Robinson.” She leaned back enough so that she could look him in the eyes. “It won’t be easy loving me, Jack. I feel like I should warn you.”

A part of her trembled with agony as she took in the thoughtful expression on Jack’s face as his eyes took her in. Theirs was an unequal partnership in so many ways – their backgrounds and position in society, Jack’s traditional view on marriage and duty and her devil may care attitude to basically everything. Despite all those things that said they were wrong for each other, Phryne knew that they belonged together and nothing was more right than being in Jack’s arms.

“I don’t think I want easy, Miss Fisher.” He said at last. “I thought I had that and it wasn’t right at all. I want you and all the trouble you bring with you. I want to argue with you and make up with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You have a deal.” She said softly, leaning in to capture his lips with hers. “You won’t get rid of me easily, Jack.”

**

It was only Phryne recalling their plan to telephone Inspector Cardew to see if the autopsy results had come in that broke through their cocoon. Phryne was half tempted to ignore the persistent little voice in her head reminding her that they were in the midst of a murder investigation and instead spend the afternoon wrapped in Jack’s embrace, but she was Phryne Fisher. And Phryne Fisher did not allow herself to be lustfully compromised during a murder investigation.

When she pointed this out to Jack, who had dragged her back down onto his lap when she attempted to get up and call the police station, he had the audacity to grin at her and let out a bark of laughter. He was still half chuckling to himself when she escaped his grip and made it to the telephone.

“Nothing yet,” she reported back a few minutes later. “Although the Inspector did get a brief telegram back from Russell Street in response to his enquiries after our credentials.”  
“Really?” Jack responded in surprise. “I would have thought it would take Russell Street longer to reply, especially given that it must have been quite late when the query came through.”

“Well in any case, Inspector Cardew says he’d welcome our assistance on this case. He says he’ll call us today if they receive anything from Scotland Yard, but to come in to the station in the morning to discuss our next move.” Phryne drifted back across the room and settled herself back by Jack’s side. He pressed an affectionate kiss at her temple, his left hand tangling with hers in his lap and his right arm stretching around her shoulders.

“Your parents are due to return soon.” He pointed out. “You can at least ask your mother about the Knights’ marriage.”

“In the meantime, I can think of something to fill in the time.” Phryne said wickedly.

**

Jack fought back a yawn as one of the Fishers’ servants ladled a serve of seafood bisque into the bowl in front of him. It seemed to him that he’d made love with Phryne in the last two days more than he’d ever done with Rosie over the course of his entire marriage. She was insatiable and it took the barest of caresses or suggestive glances from her for him to be ready for action. However, the activity had rather taken it out of him.

“Tired, Jack?” the Baron asked as his own bowl was filled. Jack glanced up in alarm.

“Oh. Uh, still recovering from that long voyage, I suppose, Baron.” He replied, very purposefully not looking to Phryne at his left. He could sense her smirk without even looking at her.

“Yes, I found that myself.” The Baron mused. “The forced confinement, the same faces for months at a time, it took me days to feel like myself again after that dratted voyage to Melbourne.”

There was an awkward silence. Lord Richmond’s unexpected trip to escape the blackmail of his cousin was evidently still a sore point with both his wife and daughter.

“I expect I’ll be back to normal after some good country air and the challenge of a murder investigation.” Jack said, neatly avoiding engaging the Baron further on the topic of his Melbourne sojourn.

“So it is decided that it was murder?” Lady Richmond asked, directing her query to her daughter.

“There is enough evidence to suggest that, although the police are waiting on the report from Scotland Yard’s coroner on the cause of death.” Phryne replied. “We’re to go to the police station again in the morning to discuss the case with Inspector Cardew. I expect he’ll have word of the cause of death by then.”

Phryne glanced briefly over at Jack, who inclined his head ever so slightly in encouragement and Phryne turned back to her parents, waiting until her mother had delicately sipped from her spoon.

“I wanted to ask you, Mother, on what you can tell me about the Knights’ marriage.”

Lady Richmond looked up in surprise. “Whatever has that got to do with it?” 

“You must know that Mrs Knight is a suspect if Richard Knight’s death was indeed murder, Mother.” Phryne pointed out. 

“I hardly think Arabella Knight is the sort of person to stoop to so common an act as murder.” Lady Richmond said in a disbelieving tone. “She comes from a good family.”

“You’d be surprise what a seemingly decent person can be driven to, Lady Richmond. I’ve seen many a murderer driven unexpectedly to a desperate act.” Jack replied, earning himself a cool look from his hostess.

“I have no doubt you’ve seen many horrible things, Inspector, although that is to be expected in a place peopled by the descendants of criminals and ne’er-do-wells.” 

“Jack’s right.” Phryne said sharply, not liking her mother’s attitude towards Jack. She made a mental note to speak to her mother later. While she’d been expecting a little haughtiness, her mother’s attitude was completely unacceptable. No doubt she still harboured some unrealistic expectation of Phryne ‘coming to her senses’ and consenting to a match with some titled boor and resigning herself to a life buried in the country while she produced a brood of weak chinned children. Her relationship with Jack was clearly standing in the way of that little dream.

“Look, all I’m after is anything you know that could suggest that Mrs Knight had reason to want to kill her husband.” Phryne continued in a softer tone. “Was he cruel to her?”

Lady Richmond’s eyes flicked back to her daughter. “There are many forms of marital cruelty, Phryne. You'll have to be more specific.” 

“Just tell me what you know.” Phryne replied. Under the table, she reached towards Jack, sliding her hand into his lap and grasping his hand.

“Richard Knight was largely indifferent to his wife.” Lady Richmond said after a moment of thought. “He only managed to marry her because his father had started to build the start of a respectable fortune and her family had fallen on hard times. Otherwise someone from his background would never have secured such an advantageous match.”

At this, Phryne’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around Jack’s, but she said nothing and waited for her mother to continue.

“I don’t believe he ever beat her, although that is hardly something one discusses over dinner.” The Baroness went on. “His actions towards others probably caused Arabella the greatest grief. The scandals lead to invitations from respectable families drying up. No want wanted to be associated with a man that could put his own selfish desires ahead of those poor men at the front.”

“Shocking, that.” Henry added, shaking his head. “And then he got away with it.”

“So we have a marriage of indifference and Mrs Knight’s position in society ruined by the actions of her husband.” Phryne summarised. “I’ve heard weaker motives for murder, but I’m still rather convinced after speaking to her today that she didn’t do it. I do believe she disliked her husband enough to take the credit for killing him.”

“Phryne!” Lady Richmond objected.

“Mother, need I remind you that you and father called Jack and I to Fisher Hall for this exact purpose? Murderers rarely fall neatly into the laps of policeman. It can be a rather distasteful enterprise.”

“Still, please attempt to have some decorum.”

Phryne rolled her eyes. “One of your neighbours has possibly been murdered and I’m the one that needs to have decorum? Honestly.”

“My dear,” The Baron interjected delicately, “Phryne and the Inspector are rather good at this sort of thing, you know. Saw them at it myself. Solving murders, that is.”

“Well it all seems terribly unseemly for the daughter of a peer to be thinking such things. If I had an inkling that this sort of muck-raking is what you would be up to, I should never have agreed to send for you.” Lady Richmond set down her soup spoon with more force than a society matron would find appropriate.

“Daughter of a peer I may be,” Phryne retorted, “but I am also a private detective with a rather excellent reputation for helping to solve the trickiest of murders. Perhaps, Mother, you should enjoy the daughter you actually have, instead of the one you wish you had.” 

With that, Phryne slammed down her own spoon and got up from the table, disappearing out of the dining room in a swirl of glittering fabric and feathers.

Jack replaced his own cutlery. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Richmond, Baron.” He got up with a polite nod of the head and followed the cloud of French perfume and indignation left in Phryne’s wake.

**


End file.
